


Blood In The Hills

by Drakyr



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Missed Connections, One Shot, Reader angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27336652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakyr/pseuds/Drakyr
Summary: While getting paid for a job, Eskel learns of a boy taken from the hill-folk long ago.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Blood In The Hills

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, my first finished piece to come out of NaNoWriMo! This piece presumes that Eskel remembers little to nothing of his childhood, save that he came from "hill-folk", and that hen song his mother used to sing. Thanks for reading!

“I’m sorry I ain’t got more for you, Master Witcher.”

Eskel shook his head as he put away the coin given to him. “Least you’re honest enough to pay me at all.”

“What else do the common folk like us have?” The commoner in question, Darrik, shrugged his broad shoulders as he spoke. “It’s just what’s fair, given you saved the village, and my wee daughter’s life. That griffin would’ve…I don’t want to think of it.”

“She’s got a whole life to live now. If you’re gonna think of anything, think of that instead,” responded Eskel. “I best be off, leave you to it.”

Darrik gestured to his house behind him. “You’re sure you won’t stay for lunch? It won’t be much, but it’ll be hot.”

Eskel shook his head. “I finish the job, I move on. Besides, I’m making my way north to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Can’t be late, lest the pass snow over.”

Eskel started turning away to mount Scorpion and ride off, but Darrik opened his mouth to speak. He hesitated, however, as if wondering if what he had to say was worth saying at all. But the witcher waited, and Darrik ventured to speak his piece.

“Funny you mention Kaer Morhen and all…and since you’re of the School of the Wolf…” Darrik scratched the back of his head sheepishly, hand disappearing into his long, dark brown hair. “It’s just, they say one of my own kin was taken to Kaer Morhen as a boy.”

Curiosity turned to interest, Eskel righted himself to face Darrik again. “Who? There’s few of us left but I might’ve known him.”

Darrik shook his head. “Don’t rightly know. It was before my time. They took my grandpa’s brother, I think…Aye, that’s it. All I remember from the stories was that the boy weren’t more than five, and losing him broke his mum’s heart.”

Eskel’s expression sobered as he listened. “Doubt that endeared your grandpa to us.”

Darrik thought for a moment. “He seemed torn, truth be told. That witcher what took his brother saved the village, like you. But at that cost…” He shrugged. “Ah, ‘tis neither here nor there anymore. His soul’s long at rest, and as you said, the boy’s soul would be long at rest, too. We’re here now to be grateful to you. Pa were almost named for him, you know.” Darrik’s demeanour turned sheepish again. “Bah, look at me, holding you up with an old story. You’ve got a long road ahead of you, Master Witcher.”

“Eskel’s fine.” He smirked. “No need to make this formal. As for your kin, I hope destiny was merciful to him.” It was more than most witchers got, but he could indulge himself in a little hope now and again.

“As do I. Farewell, Master Wi – _Ahem_ , Eskel.”

“And you, Darrik.”

Exchanging a handshake, Eskel mounted up and took to the road. Scorpion made confident headway, while Lil Bleater trotted alongside, nibbling at whatever was within reach of her rope leash. The landscape was hilly, making the road wind around and between them. Who knows how much shorter the trek through the area would be if the road could run straight through? But somehow, Eskel didn’t mind it. The air smelled of grass and flowers, and watching the grass roll in the wind made him smile.

Later that evening, as Eskel sat at his campfire and Darrik sat at his hearth, both began to sing a little something that seemed suited for the hills.

“ _De ole hen she cackled, she cackled on de fence_ …”


End file.
